Kasey Broekema is a freelance writer, dancer, and artist. She also rarely cleans her desk. You have happened to come across her website.



Proceed with schemes in mind.

If one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: We find comfort somewhere.
Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Home
Home
I found a home in the air with the female vocalist, moving my feet to the little dances inside of me. The vocalist had that same sort of comfort as kisses down the back of your neck, and I've searched for her flaming red hair and pale skin everywhere. She was isolated, she was away from the crowd. Her name wasn't listed on the set list. I've searched. She didn't have an identity, as Briseis no longer had an identity after being stolen from Lyrnessus. At the other end of the tunnel of light, the red-haired lady walked towards a glowing exit sign. Walking with her was a DJ dressed in religious Sikh robes and a turban. I could only assume they were walking into the ten-degree winter air with the intention to share a cigarette. I wanted to ask them if they felt free? They must know what home is if they are wanderers like me.

Performance Review
It is humbling to join the staff of The Ballet Herald. Click the link below to read my review of the iHeartDanceNYC performance on the evening of Monday, May 10, 2021.

Grey Matters
Senior Editor: Lay review division
Grey Matters Columbia University is a literary neuroscience journal dedicated to evolving the way we approach, discuss, and research the subject area. Neuroscience has an intimidating stigma attached to the field, and our mission is to break down that intellectual barrier to permit the knowledge of neuroscience to be accessible and available to all. We wish for a conversation about neuroscience to happen as casually as a conversation about the newest blockbuster movie. Neuroscience is fun, dynamic, and universal, and our goal is to spread our passion, work, and research with you in an engaging way.

Cover Art by Gabrielle Siegel
Art by Ausra Pranevicius

I approach the sleek handgun which glossily blends in with the nightstand, a sliver of moonlight highlighting it from the gap in the curtains of the shafted room. I know there is a second, the Glocks he carries for work, concealed in the drawer. Daintily, I trace my finger along the textured handle, wanting to pick it up, to feel it cold in my hands, to close my eyes and imagine feeling the control of holding fast against the reverberation of the pellet escaping the shaft, to regain the control I'd entirely lost.
Read the full story published with Bowdoin College, Yale University, and University of Iowa's The Foundationalist, Volume V, Issue II, Fall 2020.

Our conversation drifts, and I notice the rats the man warned us about. There are three of them, scurrying around the plaza, making their pilgrimage to the inky pond. The three must have been sent out as scouts. An entire herd of them follow, waking from their daylight slumber in the fountain and scuttling towards their ritualistic bath in the moonlight. Rats are mothers too and need to bathe their children. I suddenly wince and bend over. I thought these bloody cramps had finally stopped. Maybe it's a good thing. Ninety-five to hundred, ninety-five to hundred. Scout notices.
Read my new short story, He Never Needs to Know.

Please visit my contact page if you are interested in featuring my work in your publication.
He Never Needs to Know

Made on
Tilda